Chapter 6

Secrets

1

Mayor Blankley had kept the lid on the whole spaceship revelation, because a hopeless populace was easier to manipulate. The chief thought long and hard on whether he should reveal this discovery himself, but the Mayor was one step ahead of him. If anyone had grown infamy after that incident with the guards and the woman, it was the chief above all. It wouldn't surprise him if some of the Bunker residents thought he had been forcing himself on the woman, not the security forces they all put their trust in.

But the chief decided to spill the beans. No one took his word seriously in the past, but he had to try, because…. he had nothing else gunning for him in this life. Even before the Fall, there was part of him that felt as empty as a void, a sense of belonging he desperately craved on this ruined planet. He'd been approached a few times to try his hand in faith, to look to God for peace. He had slammed the door in that preacher's face before he could say Amen.

Where was God when the world was destroyed? Where was God when he lost his girl? Where was God when all these people had been saved, who couldn't even look him in the eye when the truth was staring them in the face?

He thought faith was all just a load of crap to help occupy the mind. Which may have helped him, but… it was hope that he was holding close. Hope in both his humanity, and the race in question. Hope that someday, things would get better. The fact that he'd been saying that for years, and still persisted, told much about his cluelessness.

But having hope for a positive outcome to all this mess had become so very frustrating as of late. Especially after he had told Jake about the spaceship discovery, and his colleague had laughed in his face.

His history with Jake was something even the chief didn't quite get. The nature of the relationship switched by the day. Sometimes they'd share a meal and slack off together down in the lower levels, other times Jake just bullied him because – like most people in the Bunker – simple tastes brought the most pleasure. Someone once told the chief he should simply talk more. He guessed every quiet kid had been told that at some point. Yet every time the chief went through these mental battles – teetering on the brink of giving up and hanging on – and he needed someone to just talk to, he had no one.

Maybe that was why he kept coming back to Jake – hoping that one day, things would change. Which they never did. Useless, just like having hope was useless, it seemed. The chief was a fool for even noting Jake's existence. It was unhealthy and he knew it, yet here he was – feeding the problem day after day.

He sighed, got back to work. The Mayor had been a pretty big hard-ass these last couple days, and the shifts had been extended. Blankley had gathered the chief along with Jake and a few other guys in his office at one point, referring to them all by their last names, like a father on the brink of giving a whipping.

"This is the third night in a row the air has absolutely reeked," the Mayor had said. "Now I don't know if something died up in the vents or you're all just slacking off, but I want this problem solved right now. Until there's not a whiff of… whatever that smell is, overtime is compulsory. I've given this department all the tools and funding you'd ever need, this shouldn't be a problem at this point."

They had all glanced around sheepishly. Apparently only the chief was capable of defending their so called 'department'. He cleared his throat and said cautiously: "This is the same funding you cut two months ago? Sir?"

The Mayor had flashed the chief a gaze that would have been considered intimidating, if Blankley's drooping jowls hadn't made the subtlest slapping sounds when he whipped his head round. Blankley was old enough to be his grandpa, and he had the extra layers of fat to prove it. "There are more demanding areas of the Bunker that require my utmost attention, chief engineer. Save your smartass comments for someone else, preferably your fellow coworkers."

None of the 'coworkers' had backed him up, so now here they were, underfunded, undertrained, under-everything, and there wasn't much to do about it except to suck it up and keep struggling on. He wondered what sort of entity he had pissed off to be tested like this time and time again. It wasn't like he had ended the world. That had been the rebels, who despite claiming to revolutionise Solaris into a proper independent power within the Milky Way, had burned it all down in their rage.

What confused the chief was that he had met the rebel leader some time ago. Mattias Cohan. Former Weyland Yutani agent turned insurgent. A nice enough man, if a bit extreme in his methods. He'd told the chief he'd stop at nothing to keep the seeds of revolution from dying, even if it meant turning on his former comrades in Wey-Yu. The world had been destroyed before Cohan could recruit the chief, but he had shown him a few basic tricks that had helped him survive this long.

The chief wondered if the former agent had fulfilled his dream of spreading the revolution to other worlds, just as he always wanted. Though if he had, he would have come back, right? To save the ones left behind? Ever the increasing pessimist, the chief thought Cohan was probably dead.

So would I if I'd been a part of the uprising.

He would have fought if he'd had the opportunity, but he'd been captured during most of the uprising. By the time he got out it was almost over, the Fall was coming, and he'd been whisked from one prison to another. Both owned by the same corporation, no less.

At least he was alive, but he never really found much comfort in this fact. Weyland took everything from him, but they were his only hope of staying away from the surface, or getting a chance at leaving the planet. One could see how the frustrations kept piling on after being forced to serve the ones he hated the most.

Maybe I could sabotage the air systems. Or…

… Damn, was he really thinking like that? Like some sort of psychopath? Even if he could pull off a stunt like that, he would kill hundreds of people, and although as much as he despised the Bunker and its inhabitants, was he really willing to consider ending so many lives?

A shrill laugh interrupted his awful thoughts. He lifted one side of his earmuffs and raised a brow, listening for a moment. Pretty soon the laugh came again, high pitched and squealy. It was coming from down the hall.

Normally, hearing a child's laugh down in the dark depths of an underground bunker might send some into shock. But the chief had experienced, even accepted, far more stranger things than superstition. He grumbled under his breath and packed up his toolkit. Of course something like this would happen just when he was about to go on break.

"You kids shouldn't be down here," he called out, looking both ways of the hall, before trudging to the left. "… Hello?"

More tittery laughter, sounded like a couple of kids. He wondered how they could have snuck down here. The main passages to the lower levels were guarded, not to mention the mum and dad's jobs were to keep the kids away from all the hazardous levels.

Their parents were probably too busy to keep an eye on their own children. It was the same with mine.

Speaking of which, he wondered what his own mother and father would think of him if they could see him now. What would they think of this walking slob who couldn't deal with his problems, had dark thoughts about sabotaging the last sanctuary for humanity, had to rely on drinking to numb the aches and jog his thoughts?

He rounded one more corner and found the culprits for all the laughing.

It wasn't ghosts or apparitions, obviously, but two small boys, maybe nine or ten years old each. Both were crouched at the end of the hallway, their backs to him. The chief knew these levels like the back of his hand, and this hallway came to a dead end. But the far wall was open, a blast door lifted to reveal a dim passage. For a moment he just stood there, wondering if he was imagining things.

"Ew! It's sticky!" one of the boys said. He was holding a crowbar in one hand, and prodding something on the floor with it. The other, younger boy's leg was obscuring what had engulfed the pair's attention.

"What's that pink stuff coming out of it?" asked the other one.

"Dunno. Might be brain stuffs."

"Hey!" the chief called out. "What're you two doing?"

The kids spun round like surprised meerkats. The one with the crowbar even held it up defensively before registering the adult walking over to them. Their faces were as dirty and greasy as their raggedy clothes. The boys looked from the chief to each other, before getting up and sprinting through the mysterious blast door behind them.

"Wait!" The chief ran after, not really sure what he would do if he caught them. But just as he reached the door that had simply not been there in the past, a piece of metal flew through the adjacent darkness and smacked him on the head. The crowbar tumbled to the ground with a clatter of steal, and the chief heard the cackling of more childish laughter as he staggered, groaning in pain.

The chief had just enough time to watch the door come down and seal with a hiss of air. Not even the outline of the blast door was visible, even with the knowledge that there was in fact, a door right there. Rubbing the lump on his head, he moved over to the not-wall and wiped at its surface. Over all these years he'd never would have thought there'd be a secret door here of all places. Why had Weyland even bothered to build a hidden passage anyway?

Only one way to find out.

For the first time since entering the Bunker, the chief felt something other than misery swell up inside him. Excitement. He'd almost forgotten the feeling, just like he had forgotten what a mole had looked like.

That was what the kids had been prodding at before he'd interrupted them. It was laying on its back by his foot, in a pool of its own dark blood, arms hooked upward like it was preparing to give a hug. It wasn't quite like what they had on Earth – a little bigger with an extra pair of hands on the front limbs – but the name had stuck. He'd thought that if animal life had survived the Fall, it would be as close to extinction as the humans were. It was sad to see, really. The chief thought moles were kind of cute.

It had burrowed in here somehow, maybe to escape the poison blanketing the surface, and had been picked up by a pair of brats and maimed to death. Even the innocence of the youth wasn't immune to the corruption of the Fall.

The chief deflated, finding it even more difficult to have hope for his species. The excitement he'd just been feeling gave way to annoyance at himself, and he set to work to try and find a way to open up this hidden door, mumbling all the while.

2

Each time he kept coming back to the door, he expected the two kids to open it up while he was working on it. They didn't, and good for them. The chief would probably have thrown the dead mole at them if he ever saw either of the boys again.

He managed to strip down a section of the wall and find a rusty control board, the dials missing or broken. He guessed there was one on the other side, that was how the boys had opened and closed it. It was almost therapeutic for the chief when it came to reassembling machinery, and this wasn't just jury-rigging repairs, but proper fixing. He spent a fair bit of his wages on spare scrap and hauled it down here, reattaching wires and redirecting electricity to this seemingly ancient blast door.

He still took a drink now and then to jog his thoughts, but on the whole, he hadn't drunk himself into oblivion within three days. That might have been a record, and if it was, he guessed this little bit of mystery had done him some good. And it came just in time, too, he was starting to go crazy lately, more so than usual. Something had thrown him a bone and he was content on chewing it.

He split his time between doing Blankley's tasks, and his own little project. For once he was asking Jake to do the covering, and against all logic Jake had actually accepted, though begrudgingly. But for what was to come for the chief, involving his 'friend' would turn out to be a big mistake.

"I can't keep doing your work, dude," Jake had complained at one point. "I never knew you had so much. I can't handle both yours and mine."

"I'm almost done. Just a few more days."

"Almost done, what?"

The chief had ignored him, hoping Jake would drop it. But of course he hadn't. There wasn't exactly a lot one could do in the lower levels to prevent being followed or spied on, as claustrophobic as the space was. He tried varying his times sneaking down to the not-wall, trying to ward off anyone who might be following him. Four days after the discovery, the chief was biting the inside of his cheek in deep concentration as he slowly brought the hidden door panel back to life, and just before the job could be done, Jake chose that moment to sneak up on him.

"What's this jive, chief?"

The chief flinched, an annoyed expression on his face as he turned to the other man. "You're still down here, Jake? Shift's over."

"That's why I came to get you. You've been down here a lot. Don't you realise how much shit's in the air? You might catch something."

I've been down here much longer than you, the chief wanted to say, instead he said: "Yep." -and got back to fixing.

"So you wanna tell me what you're doing with that wall there?"

The chief explained what he had seen. After he was done he thought, You must be on drugs.

"You must be on drugs, chief. I've walked past this hall a hundred times, there's no door!" Jake put his hands in his pockets, turned away. "'Secret passage'… ha!"

The hidden blast door flipped open with a loud whir of motors. The chief would treasure the memory of Jake's comical bewildered expression until the end of his days.

Pumping his fist in victory, the chief got to his feet and fumbled for his handheld torch. He flicked it on and a cone of white light pierced the darkness. The chamber was filled with toppled chairs all connected together by sheets of cobwebs, and there was so much dust inside the chief sneezed into his elbow the moment he poked his head in to look around.

"Oh shit," Jake said, appearing beside the chief. Their two heads swerved from left to right as they examined the square-shaped room. There were two exits on the east and west walls, one leading up a set of stairs, another leading down. Jake pointed to one of them. "Where'd you think they lead to?"

The chief said nothing, stepping inside, leading with his torch. His footsteps made muffled clicks with each stride. The air was so stuffy he found it a bit difficult to breathe. There were little tracks made in the dust, two sets of tiny prints, leading to the stairs going up.

The chief made to follow them when Jake's hand caught his sleeve. "Woah woah hey, chief, wait a second! You can't just go off into the dark like that."

"You're right," the chief said. He moved back and grabbed the boy's crowbar, flipping it a few times to get used to the weight. "Now I'm ready."

"That's not what I… You're not really thinking of heading in there, are you dude? Places are abandoned for reasons."

The chief pointed with his crowbar. "You're not the least bit interested why there's a part of the Bunker we've never known about? Or how those kids found it?"

"Short answer, no. Long answer, hell no. You see the size of those spiderwebs? There could be fucking things in there, man."

"Suit yourself." The chief shook off Jake's grip and proceeded inside. He followed the prints to the staircase, and looked up the pitch-black abyss, suddenly feeling terrified.

"God damn it," Jake mumbled, who had appeared at the chief's side once more. He noted the chief's look. "Hey, dude, come on, let's head back. Close the door and forget all this."

The chief regarded him with a brow raised. "I'm… not forcing you." He started up the stairs, Jake stuck to his flank the whole way.

"Well," Jake said, and left it at that. The chief couldn't help but think Jake was as curious as he, or perhaps had just been spooked by the whole thing and needed someone else to be around. Didn't matter, the chief was glad he wasn't exploring this place alone, even if his companion was an asshole.

The stairs were wide enough to walk two abreast, but Jake was content on letting him lead the way. Crowbar in one hand and torch in the other, he kept moving, eyes flicking every time he thought he saw a shadow move. Indeed, there were spiders the size of his hand up in the corners of the ceiling, but the chief was more focused on the source of light coming from the end of the incline.

"Do you think this was part of the original design?" the chief asked. His voice echoed a few times up and down the passageway. They'd been walking for five minutes, and the staircase had taken a spiraling pattern.

"The fuck should I know?" Jake replied, shrugging. "Probably was. Maybe. Who cares? Let's just get out of here."

The chief decided against telling Jake to go on and do just that. He couldn't help get the feeling of being watched. He tightened his grip on the crowbar and said, "But why's it abandoned?"

Jake offered him that same shrug. Another slow five minutes and they arrived at the end of the staircase, huffing lightly. This chamber was similar to the first, but was crammed with computers sat atop aluminium desks, wheeled chairs littering the floor. Everything was old, broken and covered in dust, but there was a certain logic in the mess, as if people used to come here and work.

What work, was obvious when they turned to the northern wall, where light streamed in and lit up their features. The wall was made entirely of glass, and through it was a view of one of the Bunker levels.

They could see a few people out there, going about their lives, oblivious to Jake and the chief, even when the former stupidly tapped on the glass to test this. "Oh shit," Jake said again. "One-way glass? But… but I walk past this spot every morning! I don't see anything!"

"That's what one-way glass does," the chief said, thinking, you stupid bastard. But the horrible thought that someone – multiple someone's judging by all the equipment – spying on the Bunker citizens sent a chill up his spine. And it hadn't been that long since someone had been here doing just that. There were more boot prints in the dust. The two boys' prints were nowhere to be seen, which the chief found suspicious.

"This is… really creepy," Jake said. "Can we go now?"

The chief spotted another set of stairs leading up, and two halls leading round to the sides. He guessed those led to similar observation points, but left them unexplored. He wanted to go higher. And once more, Jake followed him, complaining all the while. If Jake reaslied this irony he did not show it.

As they rose, the dust thinned out. His theory about someone being in here with them felt a little more believable, but the place was still contrastingly dark compared to the Bunker proper. The stairs grew more in length, and each time he looked ahead or behind, the sea of darkness didn't do much to settle his nerves.

"I think I saw something move above us, dude," Jake said, though it came out in a whisper the chief barely heard. He shined his torch up there, and the only thing they saw was the colourless, slanted ceiling.

"Would you calm down?" the chief said, moving off again. Jake's eyes were wide as plates.

"Calm down? What if there's like, fucking Xenomorphs down here!?"

"If there was, we'd already be dead," the chief said levelly. Jake noticed his lack of panic at the notion and blinked.

"Ever seen one, chief?"

"Xenomorphs?"

"Yeah."

"Once or twice. You?"

"Yeah, big fuckers, huh? One of them ripped this guy apart right in front of my eyes. This was years ago, from before, you know? I never ran so fast in my life. I'm surprised it didn't get me."

"Me too."

The next chamber up was slightly less run down, with computers that looked well-maintained, but were shut down. There was another glass wall, with a few chairs lined up before it. A number above told them this was level sixty seven they were observing. Two more passages curved away the room, and this time the chief explored one of them. As he'd guessed, it led to yet another observation point on the same level, just from a different angle. There were even built-in microphones on either side of the glass, and he could hear conversations being played back to him, live. He found the comparison between scientists watching rats in a maze, awfully similar to this situation.

In one other observing chamber, there was actually a doorway leading into the place the glass was displaying. There were people wandering about, so he didn't dare test if it opened, but he reckoned it did. "So whoever built this place wanted to watch, and get around the Bunker without being seen…" the chief murmured to himself. "… What the fuck?"

"What's that, chief?" Jake asked, coming up beside him.

"I said what the fuck's going on here? Some creep's using these passages to spy on people. But who could even benefit from that? There's not exactly anyone out there you could report to, unless…"

And then it clicked. The chief's eyes widened in surprise, and then anger.

"Unless, what?" Jake asked. "Chief?"

"Come on, let's keep going."

They returned to the main staircase and moved on. The chief supposed that this secret passage ran up the whole length of the Bunker, possibly even to the top level. The idea to climb all the way was certainly tempting, but what would be the point? It might not even be air-tight, and if it wasn't, he'd die of radiation poisoning long before he got to level ten, if even that. Plus there wasn't exactly a reason to go and see the surface, unless he wanted to remind himself of what the Fall looked like. But that was a memory he'd rather leave buried.

Jake still complained about being freaked out now and then, but he managed to drift to other topics, perhaps as a way of distracting himself. One certain conversation was worth recalling to the chief as they ascended. "You know man, if this place wasn't so creepy, it'd make a pretty good private spot for me and Helen."

"You're still sleeping with that wh… er, girl?" He'd almost called her a whore.

"Sure. She says she's gonna swing by more often next week. Perfect time for you to pay me back for covering your ass, hey?"

"Jake," he sighed. "… Look, forget Helen. She might say she's all about you, but haven't you seen the way she looks at everyone? You'll be out by the end of the month, replaced by some other guy. I've seen it happen a couple times."

"That's because you're a pervert," Jake replied. "You think we don't notice you looking at all the girls from the sidelines? I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who made all these looking glasses, dude."

The chief grumbled, gave up. "If you want to share used goods, fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I never asked for your warning, dude. Besides, when was the last time you hooked up with a girl? Ah, I remember, it was all the way from before. What did you say her name was again? I forgot."

The chief's hands clenched tighter against his crowbar and torch, causing the cone of light to wobble. It had been a long time since he'd told Jake of his last girl. He'd thought of it as a pretty good ice-breaker, back when he and Jake had been on a first-name basis. He had told Jake a little about her, in confidence, and by the next morning, half the Bunker knew all about it. The spook down in engineering had once been romantically involved, and she wasn't even human! That had been the first and last time the chief had revealed anything about his personal life to anyone. And that old resentment of his colleague resurfaced like boiling water.

The chief grumbled a few profanities directed at his college. Jake was oblivious to them, and the daggers in the chief's eyes.

"Well whatever it was, she's long gone, as is your romantic career, so you'd be the last person I'd ask for relationship advice, all right?"

The chief's features took on a blank, sullen look, and he found himself glancing down at the sharp end of the crowbar, still coloured by dried up mole blood. He bit his lip to keep himself from lashing out at Jake, verbally or physically. He exhaled slowly and tried to redirect the conversation. "So you don't mind sharing, then?"

"Sharing?" Jake asked. "What do you mean?"

"She's with lot of dudes, that's what I mean. We can go and find her on one of these looking glasses if you don't believe me."

"What's she do, like, kissing? Come on, people kiss all the time! The Bunker's just one big family, and we all need to show some affection now and then."

"No that's not… Just forget it, okay? Let's drop the whole thing."

"Sure."

Jake's dismissiveness only pissed the chief off more, and he quickened his pace. The next chamber was so well kept the chief turned off his light before getting too close, afraid someone else was in the area with them. There were six empty computer desks, all of their screens on and flickering. Each one showed a camera feed of the residences. Some were even inside people's apartments. Desk fans rotated lazily on a few of the tables, droning away the silence and the heat. "I always wondered where the security camera's go to," Jake said, moving over to one of the camera feeds.

"This isn't security," the chief said. He wondered if one of these feeds was of his own home (if you could call it that), and decided he'd rather not find out. "This is stalking. This guy's a freak."

"What guy? That's the question," Jake said.

"Who else would it be but Blankley? This is how he knows so much about the Bunker, about all of us."

"Blankley?" Jake asked, folding his arms. "You're out of your mind. Why would he spy on us?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about because he's a control freak? Just look at this one!" On one of the terminals was a feed of a very familiar room. The chief widened the image with the click of a mouse. "That's the place our 'security' nearly forced themselves on that woman. He knew all along what his goons were doing, and it was only after I interrupted did he actually do something about it."

"Chief, one of those guys fired a gun, that's the reason everyone came running in the first place. Besides, you don't know if Blankley was watching at the time." He waved his arms about the room. "He's not here now, is he?"

The chief thought about how long it had taken between the time he'd first heard that woman struggling, and when he eventually arrived. Five minutes, ten? That would have been more than enough time if someone was watching to send help.

"I bet his office is somewhere nearby," the chief said. They were on level sixty after all. He moved down one of the side passages. Jake was right on his heels.

"Come on man, you're making waaayyy too many assumptions. People have been spying on each other ever since trojan horses were a thing! Just because the Mayor's watching doesn't mean he's a creep."

He didn't like how easily Jake was making excuses for the Mayor, but at the same time… he could see the logic, if only just. The prior prediction about the Mayor's office being close was correct. They rounded a corner, and covering one side of the wall was the other side of the aquarium in Blankley's office.

He hushed Jake when he spied the Mayor was inside, sitting at his desk typing away. The walls were probably sound proof, but the chief wanted to be careful. They watched him through the tank of water for a few moments, moving so they could see what he was typing down.

"And you called him the stalker," Jake whispered. "I've seen enough. Let's go."

"Wait," the chief urged. There was a space to the left, with a door control panel. He held his hand over the open dial.

"Woah you're not seriously gonna-!"

"Shh!"

The chief swore that Blankley glanced around his office, like he'd heard something. Paranoid, but daring not to move, the chief held his breath. Eventually the Mayor got a phone call. He picked up the phone and talked into it, nodding once or twice. Then he put it down and stood up. For a horrible moment the chief thought he was going to come into the passage, and it looked like he was about to do it, when he turned away and headed out of his office, locking his terminal before he left.

The chief waited anxiously for ten minutes and, when the Mayor didn't come back, opened the door. A section of the wall slid up and out of sight, and he stepped into the office on the tips of his toes. Ready to bolt right back into the chambers beyond the Bunker at any time, he carefully made his way to the computer, set this torch and crowbar down, and sat in the chair. The computer was locked with a password.

There were several bits of sticky notes around the screen and desk, sets of numbers on most of them. He tried them all and they didn't work. He sifted through drawers packed with papers and clipboards, sorted through the many other items on the desk, even looking under the keyboard, but nothing seemed to work. If Jake had helped they would have found something sooner, but he looked comfortable just standing there doing circles on the spot, his mouth open like a startled fish.

Five minutes went by, then the chief found a notebook containing a motherload of passwords. Bank account passwords, online subscription details, one man's entire online profile written down in ink. He was fortunate there was no lockout system, as he only found success after the fifteenth attempt. Blankley was one of those people who had just the one password, but with slight variations with each account, like 1234 instead of 123.

And this is the guy leading us?

Welcome, Ansel Blankley, a line of green text said, and then he was in. It was almost too good to be true that the chief suspected a trap, but he started clicking through the files anyway. He was this far in, why not go a little further? He'd never known when to stop crossing the line. Or where the line was, most of the time.

"Are you crazy?" Jake asked for the umpteenth time, hand on the back of the chair, leaning in. "You're gonna get us in sooo much shit!"

"I never asked you to come with me," the chief replied. He opened up a file called Personnel.

"This is too much, dude. I don't want to get in trouble!" The chief ignored him and wondered what exactly Helen saw in this guy – if she saw anything, that was. He had thought there might have been a backbone somewhere in Jake, but guessed he was wrong.

Inside the folder was a long list of names, and after scrolling down for a few seconds, realised this was the Mayor's details on every single person in the Bunker. He scrolled down until he saw his own name, and opened it.

There were photos marked with dates, some going back dozens of years ago. There was one of his parents, arms around each other as they gazed happily into the camera. There was one of himself, back in his school years, walking home, head bowed. The chief's eyes almost watered at the sight of his own family, but he held them back. Words couldn't express how much he missed them.

There was a text entry as well, and he clicked on it. He thought he heard something ruffle outside the door, but he was too engrossed with what was written on the screen to pay it much worry.

Put him down as chief engineer the other day. Sent J to keep an eye on him in the meantime. WY told me they've got no more use for him, but he deserves a bit of respite after all he went through, and I'm no murderer. Plus he's handy with a wrench, so he's still got some use. If he gets any smart ideas I'll follow through, but until then? Watch and wait.

The chief had never served Weyland willingly before, and he wondered what made them think he was expendable, served his use. He never liked them and he bet they knew that, but what did Blankley mean by deserving respite? Nothing made sense.

"I'm guessing this J he talks about is you," the chief said, watching Jake's face carefully for a reaction. Jake's lip flapped a couple times before he spoke.

"Th-This was ages ago, dude. Just to make sure you behaved. Which is exactly what you're not doing right now!"

"What do you tell him about me?"

"Things, harmless things, honestly! He paid me off, gave me an offer I… well, you know. But I don't do it anymore! Come on, let bygones be bygones, right?"

"Yeah." The chief found himself examining the crowbar in his peripheral. "Bygones…"

The chief was about to close down the computer. Now he could definitely hear something out in the foyer, maybe the assistant had heard something, but just before he turned his gaze away, he did a double-take on the screen. There was a file called Field Reports, and dated all the way back to the Fall.

The chief couldn't resist. He supposed his unwillingness to never let things go was the turning point in his post-Fall life. But for better or worse, it wasn't that clear-cut. It never was.

He opened the file, and a few pages of text came up. What they read even shut Jake up. There were countless status updates from multiple military positions. Infantry divisions, tank columns, orbital support platforms, serious stuff. But even with all that military equipment, most of the reports ended in one of two abrupt abbreviations. MIA or KIA.

There was one particular note that caught his attention, and with each word read, the chief's hands tightened into fists hard enough for his nails to pierce his palms.

This was the note:

(Intercepted transmission) Captain of the USS Chimera: Solaris actual, this is Captain Roderick of the Chimera, responding to your planetary distress beacon. We're just crossing into the system now. Sounds like hell down there. Want to tell us what's going on, exactly?

Solaris Control Tower: Chimer-… What you… got to… Yutan… city! Repeat, Weyland is…

Captain Roderick: Say again, Solaris, there's a lot of static on your end. Try locking onto our transmitters. The frequency is 0F1.245.

Frequency accepted into local system. Transmitting…

Zofia Willow: Chimera? This is General Willow, acting CO of the Corporation in this sector. How's this? Better?

Captain Roderick: Loads, General. What's going on?

Zofia Willow: We have this under control, Captain. Weyland himself has ordered a planet-wide quarantine of Solaris. Please leave the system and return to your duties.

Captain Roderick: Quarantine? The hell's happening?

Zofia Willow: One of our bioweapons escaped from captivity many years ago, and it has just recently constructed one of its hives. Maintain your distance, Captain. Subject 49EM-1 is extremely dangerous.

Captain Roderick: 49EM-1? That's Xenomorph lingo. Have you evacuated the planet?

Zofia Willow: We cannot risk letting any of the subjects escape Solaris.

Captain Roderick: So that's a no? Christ, how many has it killed so far?

Zofia Willow: More than I'd like to admit. Please go back the way you came, Captain. As I said, we have this under control.

Captain Roderick: It's likely we're the only ship to have picked up your beacon. Not much traffic out this side of the 'Way. We'll hold position on the edge of the system until you've cleaned up this mess, just in case.

Zofia Willow: If that makes you comfortable, Captain, but there really is no need.

The chief opened up the next entry. The date told him this was a few weeks later.

Captain Roderick: General? Shit, our sensors just lit up to high hell! Three Wey-Yu ships just started bombarding the planet! What the fuck is going on? General?! Shit, we're coming back round!"

Zofia Willow: Stay your course, Captain! This is our business, not yours.

Captain Roderick: But you're firing on civilian targets!

Zofia Willow: The Xenomorphs have allied with the local insurgents. There is no other course of action, the situation is out of our hands. We have to assume the whole population is infected.

Captain Roderick: You can't just wipe out a whole planet cause some experiment got loose!

Zofia Willow: Word of this cannot come out to the public, Captain. We've tried all alternatives, but the Queen is resilient. It is only one backwater planet, after all. If even just one embryo got outside of this system, billions of lives will be lost. I assume you've read the reports. Nostromo, Origae-6? Better this place then the core worlds, for example. I'll keep my ships in orbit for a time, and when I'm certain none of the Xenomorphs remain, I'll evacuate the survivors. We've already established dozens of underground sanctuaries, and have filled more than half of them in the event of… miscalculations.

Captain Roderick: So that's why you turned off the distress beacon? This is just one giant fucking cover-up? I have family down there! You can't do this!

Zofia Willow: If the fate of humanity is threatened, I can and will do anything to save it.

Captain Roderick: You son of a bitch! You're… You're not going to get away with this!

Zofia Willow: You're targeting Weyland ships, Captain. We are all on the same side here. Don't be a fool.

(USCSS Chimera launches 49 missiles towards the bombarding ships)

Zofia Willow: God damn it, Roderick! You're going to strand us all if you destroy those ships!

(The ships USCSS Seraph, Pariah, and Poseidon launch a combined retaliation strike)

Zofia Willow: God damn it. *Sigh*… Did any other ships pick up the beacon?... Good. At least the Queen is stranded here with us. There's no telling how much damage she could do if she escaped…

The chief sat back in the chair, stunned. It was all Weyland's fault. Of course it had been. But to go so far as to wipe out a planet? It was… sick, even for them. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kill Blankley, this General Willow character, kill every single damned Weyland employee still alive on this planet. They had done terrible things, but this? This was unredeemable. Madness.

"We have to tell everyone," the chief said, looking to Jake. "We have to let the Bunker know what Weyland's done."

"Now hold on," Jake said, hand on the chief's shoulder. "Weyland, they… they might have been on to something."

The chief looked at his fellow engineer like he was looking at mental patient. "You… are fucking kidding me!" the chief exclaimed. "They started the Fall! They killed our families! And I bet Blankley had a part in it all! He has to be held responsible! They all have to!"

"Responsible for saving our lives!" Jake defended. "The entire countryside was roaming with those Xenomorphs, remember? Solaris was too far gone to save. We should be glad we're still alive, otherwise literally everyone would have been impregnated by those things."

"You don't know that. You don't fucking know anything about the Xenomorphs. I should have killed Blankley when I had the chance…"

"What… what chance?"

"Doesn't matter. There has to be something around here I can copy all these reports on, and then people will have to listen to me. Blankley won't be able to weasel his way out of this one. Weyland's not going to get away with this. Not again."

The chief went to stand, when an arm shot out, stopped him halfway. He looked from Jake's wrist, to his face, and he knew what the man was going to say next. Jake had been Blankley's lackey, and probably felt he still owed allegiance to him.

"Stop chief, just…. just stop. You have any idea what'll happen if word of this gets out?"

The chief didn't hesitate, and Jake felt smaller under the chief's gaze. "A revolution. And that's exactly what we need, Jake. Now get out of my way."

"Last time we had one of those, the world was destroyed! Look I'm not budging. Not until I convince you to just take a moment to think about all this."

"I've been thinking for a long time, more than you realise. It wasn't the rebels who blew this planet back to the stone age. It was Weyland, and I should have known that from the start." The chief took a breath to control his rising anger. "I've put up with your shit for years, Jake. But if you don't get out of my way right now, we're both going to regret it."

"I can't do that, dude. Weyland saved both our asses, and we owe them. And if you think you can intimidate me into-"

Jake never got another word out. The chief reached behind him, grabbed the crowbar, and slammed it against Jake's temple. The meaty thwack sound the impact made was something the chief would never forget.

Jake raised a hand up to his head in an almost calm sort of way. His fingers brushed against the swelling bruise just above his eye, and came back red with blood. Brow raised, he looked at the chief as if meaning to ask him a what the weather was like.

The chief swung again, hit the same place – crunch! – and this time blood gushed out in a stream, splattering everywhere. One bit even flicked onto the bridge of the chief's nose, but he didn't wipe it away.

Jake's scalp was swelling a dark purple colour, and his eyes were slowly rolling around in different directions. But the chief was so overcome with rage – his mind a swirling monsoon of emotions as he tried to process all these new revelations – that he struck Jake a third time.

Then a fourth.

And even as the fleshy, sick sounds of someone's skull caving in filled his ears, the chief actually felt… satisfied. Jake deserved every single ounce of pain, and even then, that wouldn't be enough.

He raised his weapon above his head, like he was about to tee off at the PGA, went to hit him again… when he stopped himself. The thing lying face-down before him, was Jake. His coworker, a fellow human, and there was a bit of what could only be his brain matter stuck against the front of the chief's boot.

Oh no.

One moment his eyes were blazing with rage, and the next, replaced by horrified panic. Just like that, as his mind finally processed what he had done. He let go of the crowbar, which clattered to the floor, and hunkered down, not quite believing the mess in front of him was Jake, or that he had had the strength to bludgeon a living person.

"Jake?" The joints of his knees soaked through with blood. "Oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit!"

The chief had never killed before, and as the implications of this act finally settled in, he sat back against the desk, mouth hanging open as he watched the thing in front of him twitch and spasm. He had felt so satisfied in the heat of the moment. A sort of thrill as he let out all his frustrations on this defenseless man. And the most messed up thing? If he could replay the last five minutes again… he found himself admitting he wouldn't have done anything differently.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He figured out an answer to his prior mentioned question: what would his parents think of him?

They'd be ashamed.

The door opened but he didn't even look up. He just sat there, holding his head in shaking hands. Someone screamed, but as much as he wanted to, it wasn't the chief who'd cried out. Footfalls growing distant, then coming closer. More shouts, several people coming into the office.

The chief still held that deer-in-headlights expression, even when security hauled him off towards a fate that, if you were lucky, killed you quickly.

Sweeping.